5 times (41)
by Cherlock123
Summary: 4 times John thought Sherlock was dead and one time it was the other way around. Slight Johnlock and Mystrade undertones, no smut (could be platonic john Sherlock), quite a lot of swearing. NOT REICHEMBACH! (tired of reading those:) Please read and review :)


1.

John held the gun in his hand, with a straight and guiltless face. He loaded it within seconds, he glanced fleetingly at the window opposite him, just making out the pill bottle in Sherlock's hand. The man in question was sat down in the other room holding the bottle in the light,

_Oh shit he's seriously considering this, hurry up John, _he told himself.

C_ome on come on, oh shit, the motion of his elbow, he's unscrewing the cap._ John saw Sherlock raise the pill to his lips. BANG.

John saw Sherlock jump. _no no no I couldn't have missed, I didn't miss. _Sherlock stayed where he was for a few seconds, for that length of time John believed that he had killed a genius. With his tremors he might have missed. Sherlock's head fell forward just a little, _OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD, I KILLED MR HOLMES! _his brain screamed.

His the gun in his hand and his face dropped.

Sherlock stood up. _Sherlock Holmes is alive, the bastard. _Sherlock jumped over the table, _I can't let him know the truth. _John hit the floor, as his face met the tiled floor he let out a relieved sigh. Thank God, he quite liked the arrogant detective.

2.

Sherlock looked at him in as if he had ripped the ground out from underneath him. _Sherlock please don't look at me like that. _Blood trickled down Sherlock's chiselled face: over the bridge of his nose, around the sharp edges of his left cheek bone and into his parted lips at the far corner of his mouth.

He felt something resting on his face, sharp, heavy, crumbly. John cracked one of his eyes open, only to see that he was surrounded by rubble. _What the hell happened. _He noticed that is foot was in pain and soaked. _how did _realisation hit him like a tone of bricks _Oh shit, the pool. _When he sat up and saw that his foot was resting in a pool of blood and water.

_Sherlock? _he perked up instantly, he checked that he wasn't going to cause any spinal damage before sitting up. He got to his feet and surveyed the damage, the ceiling was completely caved in, along with most on the east wall,exactly where Sherlock had been standing. John jumped to his feet, fell to his knees and dug at the bricks.

"Sherlock!" he wheezed _fuck! _the dust had obviously clogged his lungs while he was unconscious, how was Sherlock meant to respond when he couldn't hear him.

John suddenly slumped forward and a choked coughing fit escaped. "Sherlock!" he tried, he was really trying, but to no avail. He continuing shifting irrelevant handfuls of dirt and wheezing Sherlock's name until he collapsed on the pile again, except this time, he didn't pull himself together, he just lay there for a few seconds, still mumbling his friends name over and over.

GASP

That was one of the most joyous moments John had ever experienced, it was quickly followed by a moment of terror as he realised that the noise might have come from a living Jim Moriarty; he could still be alive, he was on the same side of the room as Sherlock, when the bomb went off and the building came readied his gun in case it was the Napoleon of crime.

That was when he heard the second most joyous sound in his life, "John!" Sherlock gasped. In response John forgot about the pain and jumped the three metre pile in front of him. He could see Sherlock struggling in the middle of the pool. John ran to the closest edge, removed his jacket and jumped into the water. _If you die I'll bloody kill you. _The water was thicker than he imagined, his leg must've been worse off than he first thought.

John managed to get his arms around Sherlock, the detective was struggling, he was probably in shock, that was when the blood started to show in Sherlock's hair. _please be alright. _He could hear the sound of the ambulance in the background. "Sherlock! Sherlock, are you alright." his head lulled to John's shoulder. _Sorry about this mate, _john threw his friend onto the side of the tiles.

Once he was sure his friend was not going to slip back into the water he set about pulling himself out. He'd used most of his strength digging and swimming was a 6ft2" Sherlock in his arms, as soon as he got up to his waist out of the water his arms gave way and plunged him into the water. He was under, not being able to respond _concussion, _he was now 100% defenceless. His life story was the last thing on his mind, it was mostly just hanging onto the oxygen in his lungs.

That was when a hand was in front of his face, then in his hair, then the shirt of his neck. Oxygen, sweet oxygen, _ouch! _he collided with the side of the pool. He rolled onto his side and coughed again, he was met with the his friends dreary eyes. "Sherl..Sta'wake." John passed out.

"John." _I'd be lost without my blogger._

3.

John hated it when Sherlock left the house; possibly because he became so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't talk to, hear or see anyone else, meaning he wasn't going to notice an oncoming car. It doesn't help that on the day of their first meeting, Sherlock was clipped by a car and nearly poisoned himself.

This time Sherlock had run out of the house with a generously sized suit case, with only a "Out" in response to John's questioning. There was small feeling of jealousy that Sherlock took off suddenly and didn't take him along. John sat trying to take his mind off things with the daily mail, which he notice it was total rubbish. That was when a distraction presented itself...

KNOCK

John stood from his chair, trekked downstairs and opened the front door of 221b. There was a suitcase on the doorstep, as he examined it more carefully he realised that it belonged the his... the, _he's not mine,_ crazy consulting detective. He dragged it inside, back up the stairs and into their shared flat. Once out of the possible prying eyes of Mrs Hudson, he opened the case, inside were: two shirts, two pairs of socks, two sets of trousers and on long black coat.

John examined the coat, smelling it and throwing it back in. The force of the coat hitting the bag caused it to tip over. The light from the open window cascaded over the bag, this caused the a particularly large bloodstain on the cuff of the coat to be in perfect view of the Doctor. Once his eye was caught he couldn't loose it.

John picked up the coat and examined it closely. _Oh God, oh God, oh God. he's done it, he's actually bloody done it._

That was when the door opened and Sherlock bounced up the stairs two at a time and burst through the door. "Sherlock!"

"Oh John have you always got to be so over-dramatic?"

"What is this?" He shouted.

"It's a coat John."

"The blood?" Sherlock sighed.

"Not mine."

John stopped panicking and sank back into his lounge chair. _I'm going to kill that bastard one of these days. _

4.

Fog, so much fog. They were stood in the middle of a marsh and there was a Scooby-doo style fog surrounding them. In instinct everyone backed into a circle, _strength in numbers, _the growl of the H.O.U.N.D sent shivers down everyone' spines.

He looked to his left and saw Greg wielding his gun and aiming it in the direction of the dog. He looked to his right and saw... fog, _Sherlock, where is Sherlock_; the man in question was about three meters away, standing in the main body of the fog, away from the safety of the fog.

John was a bit preoccupied with the, massive, savage, dog standing overhead.

SHOUT

Sherlock was screaming with terror, "NO! MORIARTY!" _oh shit, please get back Sherlock. _John started to edge away from the group. He was about a metre away from the idiot, when the man in question let out another shout, "It's in the fog!" it was at the top of his lungs, but at least it wasn't one of terror.

John hated it when Sherlock was out of his grasp.

*_Reichembach- please take my hand and step down*_

+1.

Sherlock walked up the stairs to the flat, he hoped John would take him back. It had been tem months since Sherlock had plummeted off the roof of St Bart's and destroyed both of their lives.

Sherlock had lost weight, well, that was easy when the most interconnected problem presented itself, combined with not having his blogger to remind him to eat. His cheek bones were even more protruded and his eyes were even more hollow than before. _I have to make sure that John doesn't see my ribs_ which were sticking out at an alarming rate.

Sherlock picked the lock on the door; he couldn't be side-tracked by Mrs Hudson and her possible heat-attack; I mean if she saw a dead man walking she would probably keel over if she saw a dead man walking.

The door popped open slowly. The place still looked the same, a little darker than before. He cautiously made his way to the stairs, _please be here der, please forgive me. _He took the railing and ever so slowly made his way to the flat.

On the door was an envelope, white, cheap, written on with a tacky biro. _What the, Mrs Hudson would surly not evict John, she was like a son to him. _He picked the letter of the door and examined the writing,

"This is my note, isn't that what people do.

Please don't come in Mrs Hudson."

_No! _Sherlock burst through the door and searched the room. With no sign of John in the: living room, the bathroom, the kitchen and John's bedroom. _think John, think John, kind, intelligent, human, sentimental, consider... oh John, _Sherlock was already running to his own room. The door was locked, _no John, _"John!" Sherlock's adrenaline kicked in and he kicked to door in.

There on Sherlock's bed, was a sprawled out John. There was a large pill bottle resting in his hand. "John!" Sherlock was at his side, rolling over the unconscious man. Sherlock tried shaking him awake, John was unresponsive, that was until he threw up over Sherlock's suit. "John! John! wake up!" it took him this long to think of calling for an ambulance. He reached for his non-registered mobile and began to dial 999, when a cracked voice spoke out, "Shr..lck."

"John!"

"'m I dead?" he chocked.

"John. Ah no you're not dead. I'm alive." John passed out

*later that week*

"Sherlock, you should go home and get some sleep." Lestrade stated, he was now over the shock and anger that Sherlock was alive and left him thinking that he had killed his sort-of-son.

"I'm not leaving John again."

"You'll be no use to him if you're passed out on that chair."

"Haven't you got a case to think about for an unnecessarily long amount of time."

"I'll be a call away if you need me."

"You're not a doctor, ergo I won't need you." Lestrade left to sit in the family room, _he really does love John doesn't he, I should let Myc know._

*Back in the hospital ward*

"Please John. Please wake up." John's hand twitched, "John, John, can you hear me?" He shouted. "NURSE!" almost immediately one of them burst through the door _Mycroft _he thought with a smirk, he was going to have to pay for this one. He was ushered out of the room before he could protest.

He walked to the family room and say next to a smiling Greg, "What happened to not needing me?"

"Oh, shut up Greg."

"He's waking up."

"I heard. You love him don't you?"

"How do you know if you're in love? Greg was shocked by the openness of the closeted man.

"Why do you think I would know? I'm a divorcee."

"But you _love _my brother, don't you, I mean, why would you bee with someone that you didn't love. By the way yes it was obvious. But how do you know if you're in love?"

"Well you can never really know for sure, I mean..."

"Mr Holmes." The nurse asked, peeking her head around the door.

"Yes." Sherlock responded.

"Dr Watson is conscious, he's a little drowsy, it seems there's no brain damage, he threw up most of what he took. He should be fine. Normally we would give him a psychological examination, however we believe that the extreme grief caused this depression, if you stay, it should act as therapy."

"In other words; you're too cheap to test him slash help him." the nurse tried to respond but Sherlock slipped himself past her.

"Sorry about him." Greg apologised. He looked into John's hospital room and saw Sherlock standing by the bed. "Hey Myc, I think they've finally twigged. Hey do you think you could be home on time tonight... Oh no other than I want to see you." He walked out of the hospital and in the direction of their favourite Italian restaurant and the tuperwear shop.

"John I am so sorry."

"You're brother already told me why you had to die. Thank you."

"That's not the only thing I wanted to tell you."

"Sherlock, I love you."

"I think I love you."

,-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',- ',-',-',-',',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',- ',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-', -',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-',-' ,-',-',-',

There will be more chapters under request, and a sequel of Mystrade as a separate story.


End file.
